


And the Cassock Stays On

by StarsGarters



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: AU, Comeplay, Costume Kink, Costume Parties & Masquerades, HYDRA Husbands, M/M, Masks, Masturbation, Priest Kink, Roleplay, Spanking, beads
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-20
Updated: 2015-06-20
Packaged: 2018-04-05 06:19:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4169193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarsGarters/pseuds/StarsGarters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Of course, there’s booze involved. It’s Mardi Gras. Brock has a mask on as well because this is a costume party. There are expectations for a costume party. Feathers and sequins and ribbons. He's a tropical bird, a cockatoo and he's punched more than one person on the street tonight for making fun of him. He’s more naked than covered up because he works hard at looking this good. All eyes on him and that’s just the way it should be. Everyone is bright and cheerful, painfully festive. </p><p>Except for that guy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And the Cassock Stays On

Of course, there’s booze involved. It’s Mardi Gras. Brock has a mask on as well because this is a costume party. There are expectations for a costume party. Feathers and sequins and ribbons. He's a tropical bird, a cockatoo and he's punched more than one person on the street tonight for making fun of him. He’s more naked than covered up because he works hard at looking this good. All eyes on him and that’s just the way it should be. Everyone is bright and cheerful, painfully festive. 

Except for  _that_  guy.

The tall one, in the corner, the one with the broad shoulders. He’s dressed all in black, like a fucking _priest_ of all things. His black velvet mask is somber and elegant in the midst of all the pageantry. There's a big scar on his chin and Brock doesn't like the way he's smiling. Like he knows _everything._  

Who in the hell dresses up like that for Mardi Gras? Brock tosses back the rest of his mystery punch and stomps up to the mystery man, his flip flops noisily clacking. “You. Who invited you?” Brock pokes his finger in the middle of the priest’s chest. Damn, he's tall.  

“You don’t remember?” His voice is as deep and lush as his velvet mask. _It’s just the booze_ , Brock thinks. “You invited me.” 

“No I didn't.” Brock crosses his arms and his feathers shake irritably. "I only invited cool people to my party." 

“I’m shocked.” The fake priest reaches out and touches the skin of Brock’s clavicle, a whisper of a touch. Brock shivers in spite of himself. His lips part and the priest continues his delicate caress down Brock’s bare arm, delves into the divot of his elbow, slipped down his wrist. The priest holds Brock’s hand and brings it to his lips, anoints the palm with a kiss. 

“Are you sure?” The noise of the party fades into the distance and Brock swallows hard. 

“You-- you should jog my memory. I’ve-- had a lot to drink.” _Oh_. _Oh_. The mysterious man steps behind him, effectively blocking them from the gaze of the other party-goers. 

“You’ve forgotten.” He places his hands on Brock’s shoulders, slides his fingers up the sinews of his neck. His breath is hot and sweet on the hollow beneath Brock’s ear. Suddenly, this is the best party Brock's ever thrown. 

“Are you ready for your penance?” There is a distinctly unholy hardness pressing up against Brock’s ass. “Join me in the confessional? I’m sure you have a multitude of sins to confess.” That rich voice echoing in his ears, Brock longs to know what's under that costume. If there's a beer belly then the priest is getting thrown out on his ass for being a prick tease. 

"Um, my room." Brock grabs the man's hand and leads him up the stairs. There's hooting and hollering, but Brock just flips them off. He's on a mission.  

He shuts the door behind them and impatiently grabs a fistful of the priest's cassock. "Let's see who you are under this." Brock mutters. The man deftly side steps his grasp and Brock finds himself pinned against the closet door, his arms above his head. 

"The cassock stays  _on._ " The priest's eyes are green under the velvet mask and Brock nods in agreement. Who does he know with green eyes like that? "I think I know your first sin." 

"Oh yeah?" Brock puffs up his chest and wriggles. 

"Pride, of course." He releases Brock's wrists because both of his hands are trailing down Brock's chest, flitting over the muscles, tapping lightly on hard nipples. "So much Pride. Flaunting your body to everyone who will look." The room air feels stiflingly hot, it's hard for Brock to catch his breath. "You are beautifully made, a rare exotic bird." 

"So?" Brock blusters, "What's wrong with that?" 

"Nothing. As long as you're prepared for your penance." The priest made punishment sound intriguing. Brock nods. "Good. Say, _red light_ if you feel you've made a mistake." 

Brock rolls his eyes, "Whatever. I can take any weirdo sex games you've got planned--" His feathers rustle against the door, "What do I call you?" He better not have a stupid name, Brock thinks. 

" _Father_." Brock wants to laugh, but he's pinned by that green-eyed gaze more effectively than by the priest's hands. He wants to do well, he wants to please. His inhibitions are liquor-stripped and his tiny shorts are concealing nothing of his arousal.

"Ah. It would seem that I must add Lust to your list of sins." Sure fingers dance across the tented fabric over Brock's crotch, the spandex dark and wet over his captured erection.

"Better be sure." Brock smiles and the priest makes a low groan in the back of his throat as he peels back the fabric, pulls it down around his knees. He's swollen and leaking, there's no mistaking his desire. The priest plants his hand in the middle of Brock's sweat-glistening chest and pins him against the door. 

"Do. Not. Move." As the priest takes his hand away, he steps back and devours Brock with his gaze. "You looks so tempting, so sinful. It must be blasphemy." He pulls out a string of beads from his cassock, not the cheap plastic trinkets that adorn the necks of everyone at Mardi Gras, but severe black rosary beads. A crucifix dangles from the end.

He kneels down in front of Brock, looks up at him and while he slowly crosses himself, the priest licks his lips. Brock's mouth goes dry and he inhales, his breath hissing through his teeth. The priest starts to murmur in Latin as he dips a fingertip in the fluid dripping down Brock's dick and touches it to his lips. " _Et ne nos inducas in tentationem..."_  Brock's fingers claw at the closet door as the beads are wound around his cock, slowly languidly dragged against his skin. The crucifix wetly slaps against his thigh and the priest smiles at his handiwork. 

"I'm going to Hell for this," Brock whispers. He doesn't even believe, but this feels far too good to be condoned by any religion.

"Calm yourself, _my son_. There is no sin that cannot be expunged, cannot be forgiven." Brock wonders if the man kneeling in front of his cock is actually a real fucking priest. Lush lips kiss along the rosary beads, so close to his hot skin, that he whimpers in frustration. "Confess. What do you wish?" 

Brock is at a loss for words, too many ideas swirl in his head, but every concept boils down to  _want. To yearning need._

Those green eyes surrounded in black velvet look up at him, "I can only forgive what you confess to me. You might want to be _explicit._ " He smirks and crooks his fingers under Brock's sack.

"Please! I-- need your mouth. Please suck me-- fuck me- do what you want with me- I just need, I need you." Brock adds in a whine at the end in a fit of inspiration, " _Father._ " And that seems to do the trick to nudge the man's iron-clad control.

The priest unwinds the beads, slick with pre-cum and orders breathlessly, "Open your mouth." Brock obeys and the beads slip over his tongue, he tastes himself, fights to hold back the orgasm building in his belly. He's not going to cum just from this, not before he feels that wicked mouth.

" _Sed libera nos a malo._ "  Hot lips stretch about his cockhead and Brock's head knocks back against the door with a thud. The priest grabs handfuls of his asscheeks while bobbing his head, Brock feels himself nudge against the back of his throat. Too good, too sweet and hot. Brock reaches out to touch the mask, to muss the slicked back dark hair, but the priest pulls back, a string of drool sags from his reddened lips. 

"I told you not move." He admonishes in a severe tone, Brock fights the urge to fall to his knees and beg for forgiveness.  "Now you must be punished." He sits on the edge of the bed. "Over my lap. Now." 

Brock stumbles in a daze over to the priest and to his red-faced burning shame, he _obeys_. His ass is in the air, his cock pinned against the black cassock-clad thigh. And the first slap on his ass jerks his whole body, pushing his cock against the priest's leg.

" _Unus_." Brock gasps and wriggles  " _Duo."_  The heat and the burn of his ass is torment and he moans. _"Tres."_ Brock shudders, spurting rivulets of semen down the black cassock, nonsense words spilling from his lips in a litany, a mockery of prayer.

He falls to the floor and the priest stands above him, he pulls out his heavy, thick cock and strokes himself. Brock watches in awe until the priest comes with a groan, cum splatters down upon Brock's skin, painting him with dribbles of white. 

The priest tucks himself away. He helps a wobbly Brock to the bed, picks a stray feather off Brock's sweaty shoulder and murmurs in his ear, " _Amen, my child_." 

Brock leans against him and takes off his bird mask, his hair is messy with sweat. He waits and the priest finally takes off his velvet mask. Brock blinks in bewilderment, he's never seen this man before in his life. The priest offers him his hand, Brock takes it out of habit, they shake. "I'm Jack." Jack flops back on the bed with a whoosh of a sigh. 

"Brock. I don't know you, do I?" His ass aches from the spanking, "You know me?" 

Jack shakes his head, "Nope. But I liked what I saw." 

"So-- you're not really a priest, I hope." 

Jack laughs, "Nope. Got kicked out of Catechism. You're not really a _bird_ , are you?" 

Brock grabs a pillow and creams that smirking face with it. "You bastard." They wrestle about the bed half-heartedly and Brock lets himself be pinned.  

"Just a little bit. If you want I can say a few Hail Marys," Jack murmurs in his ear, "Or you can just give me your phone number. How about a little of both, my son?"

And Brock grins beneath him. "Oh  _Hell_ yeah."    

 

 

 

  

 

**Author's Note:**

> This was all one big misunderstanding from the beginning. It was written as a tumblr AU prompt fill, but I read the numbers wrong so you get my version of 'Met at a masquerade ball'. 
> 
> Apologies in advance. FOR EVERYTHING.
> 
> The Latin translates into, "and lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil."
> 
> Comments are gratefully cherished and squeed upon.


End file.
